


Your Subtleties, They Strangle Me

by BorealLights



Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Why does my Geralt hate himself so much?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorealLights/pseuds/BorealLights
Summary: Geralt had never felt the urge to stay in one place for very long. His feet took him through forests, deserts, and streams and his soul always seemed to push him onward.This was the first time he’d ever felt anything close to regret upon leaving.He glanced back at the inn he had left Jaskier in, the building still and quiet in the early morning darkness. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but Geralt knew he couldn’t stay until then- the bard would wake up as soon as the sun’s first rays peeked over the horizon, grumbling as he fumbled about in the early gray of predawn.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637509
Comments: 15
Kudos: 214





	Your Subtleties, They Strangle Me

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 4 of Geraskier Week- Hurt/Comfort
> 
> Title from [The All-American Rejects - It Ends Tonight](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yfdAGkjHGac)
> 
> Opening lines from [this](%E2%80%9C) post.

Geralt had never felt the urge to stay in one place for very long. His feet took him through forests, deserts, and streams and his soul always seemed to push him onward.

This was the first time he’d ever felt anything close to regret upon leaving.

He glanced back at the inn he had left Jaskier in, the building still and quiet in the early morning darkness. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but Geralt knew he couldn’t stay until then- ~~his~~ the bard would wake up as soon as the sun’s first rays peeked over the horizon, grumbling as he fumbled about in the early gray of predawn. Geralt felt the ache in his chest grow worse as he thought about the sleepy complaints Jaskier would mumble, rubbing at his eyes.

He forced himself to turn away once more, slipping silently into the stables. Doubtless Roach would be upset by their early departure, but she’d come to understand… eventually. Hopefully she wouldn’t miss Jaskier too much- just like Geralt himself, she’d grown attached to the bard rather quickly, though Jaskier’s constant pampering probably had something to do with it. She’d become used to the lack of treats again, Geralt was sure.

“C’mon Roach. Time to go, girl.” He said, gently patting his faithful companion awake, much to her annoyance. She didn’t kick him, but he did receive a few swats to the head from her tail. Again, he found himself thinking of Jaskier. The bard would have soothed her with a song- something soft and sweet, his voice dipping into a low croon as he sang, skilled fingers dancing across his lute as easily as he danced across a room. Jaskier would keep playing as they left the inn, the sleeping town providing the perfect backdrop to such a calming melody.

Bitterness coated Geralt’s tongue. He had to stop having thoughts like that. As of now, he and Jaskier were going their separate ways. No doubt when he awakens the bard will be upset with Geralt, but it was for the best. Geralt couldn’t keep dragging someone so… precious to him into danger. And Jaskier was precious- he could admit that much.

Jaskier was a friend, but Geralt wanted so much more from the bard. And that scared him. Not just the feelings, but the thoughts associated with those feelings. The wants and urges. He wanted to hold Jaskier close, to shower him in praises that won’t get caught in his throat, give him gifts that he doesn’t have to hide in the other’s bag, wanted to give into the urge to kiss the other man.

But he couldn’t.

Jaskier was a human and Geralt… Geralt was a Witcher. Geralt lived his life on the fringes of society, and Jaskier thrived as the center of attention. It was pure luck that had driven them together, helped doubtlessly by the stubbornness of one bard. And now Geralt was forcefully separating them.

Roach now fully saddled, Geralt led her out of the stable. She huffed at him, giving him the side eye when she saw there was no Jaskier waiting for them, but plodded dutifully after him. Maybe she could tell how much this hurt him.

Because leaving Jaskier behind hurt. It always had, but now that Geralt was intending this to be their final parting? It felt physically painful to walk out of town, knowing that if he had his way, he’d never see those bright blue eyes again, never hear the other’s voice again. No more songs around the campfire, no more lute-calloused hands gently wrapping injuries, no more sweet smell of chamomile.

It was for the best.

Jaskier would find some court to take him in, where he’d live out the rest of his life feasting and performing. And Geralt… Geralt would go back to his lonely wanderings on the path.

It would be for the best. Really.

* * *

He’d forgotten how ~~lonely~~ quiet traveling the path was. It didn’t even take two days before Geralt was regretting leaving Jaskier behind, feeling the other’s missing presence like a physical wound. But he kept moving forward, putting as much distance between him and the town as possible, despite the ache in his chest. Sometimes at night he swore he could hear Jaskier’s voice calling him, begging him to come back. But it had to be his imagination. He needed it to be his imagination.

The days seemed to blur together as he ~~ran away~~ continued his journey, rarely stopping in towns. The only things that drew him into civilization were contracts and brief stops to resupply. He didn’t deserve anything more.

* * *

Occasionally Geralt heard stories of Jaskier, performing at some lord’s party or some duchess’s wedding. He seemed to be doing well, and Geralt was glad for him. But he cursed himself for not cutting ties sooner, for selfishly keeping the bard to himself. Jaskier was finally getting the recognition he deserved, and Geralt wouldn’t let himself miss the other too much. Wouldn’t let himself get bitter over Jaskier’s success.

Meanwhile, days had become weeks, weeks had become months. He’d ~~abandoned~~ left Jaskier mid-spring, and it wasn’t until the end of summer that he let himself ride into town with the intent to sleep in a real bed for once. He’d dealt with an infestation of drowners in the last town, and felt he had more than earned both a bath and a bed. He should have known destiny wouldn’t let him be.

The town had seemed friendly enough when he rode in, if a bit wary. No rocks or rotten vegetables were thrown at him, and the children didn’t run, screaming about a monster. Without Jaskier by his side, those events were becoming commonplace again, so the little town was positively welcoming, comparatively. He’d put Roach up at the stable before tromping into the inn for a room and perhaps something to drink, if he was ambitious.

He didn’t let himself drop his guard completely, but it felt good to relax, just a little. His first mistake- a Witcher should never let themselves relax. The world was a hostile place, and it had been proven to Geralt over and over again. His second mistake was not leaving as soon as an already drunk group of men wandered in, loud and obnoxious. If he had had all of his wits about him, Geralt would have retired to his room as soon as they stepped in- though that might not have helped. The group zeroed in on him immediately, one man muttering an insult to another.

This is when Jaskier would step in, drawing the men’s attention with his flashy clothes and clear voice; sing one of the ridiculous songs he wrote about Geralt. But Jaskier isn’t here now. It’s just Geralt and a group of drunkards with no sense of danger.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The one who had quietly insulted Geralt swaggered over, reeking of cheap ale and sweat. His companions follow, smelling just as bad. Geralt had to keep his face carefully neutral as he looks up, though it’s a bit satisfying to see them each flinch away when he meets their gaze. The man, who seemed to be the group’s leader, quickly recovered, sneering. “Ain’t no contracts for you around, Witcher- we’ve no need for mutants like you here in Byrdry.”

Geralt said nothing, trying his best to ignore them.

“Oi, ain’t he the White Wolf? The one with the bard?” Another man asked, leaning down to examine Geralt closer. They couldn’t tell how he grit his teeth at yet another reminder of Jaskier. “I think he is!”

“Where’s your little songbird, wolf? He finally come to his senses and abandon ya? Or did you chase him off with your freakishness?” The leader snorted out a laugh. Geralt suppressed a growl- he didn’t know what he was talking about, Jaskier would never be so cruel as to abandon someone. No, that was on Geralt.

The door to the inn opened again, but Geralt paid it little attention.

“Hey say something, freak!” Another man snapped when Geralt remained impassive. It wasn’t anything new, and some part of him whispered that he _deserved_ their hatred, _deserved_ to be treated like an outcast. After all, he was a freak, something not meant to exist in nature. That part of him had gotten louder since leaving Jaskier’s side, and he didn’t know how to quiet it.

“Geralt??”

Son of a bitch.

Geralt lifted his gaze to meet a pair of brilliant blue eyes, just as bright as he remembered them. He took a deep breath- under the stench of stale alcohol and unwashed bodies was the warm scent of grass and chamomile that made his heart ache.

“Jaskier.” Geralt hoped nobody could hear how his voice shook, saw how his shoulders slumped; half relaxation and half relief. He relaxed even more when he got a playful wink and smile from the bard.

“Gentlemen! Please, no need to be so rude!” Jaskier quickly drew the men’s attention, practically dancing over to the inn’s little stage, pulling his lute off of his back. Reluctantly the men turned away from Geralt for this new attraction; Jaskier thankfully starting with some song that _wasn’t_ “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” for once.  
——————  
By the time Jaskier had finished, it was well into the early evening, the inn packed full of cheer. Geralt had retreated to a corner table, keeping a careful watch over ~~his~~ the bard, as was his habit. He _knew_ Jaskier could take care of himself, but he felt… useful, doing this.

“Goodnight, you’ve truly been a marvelous crowd!” Jaskier finally left the stage to cheers and calls for even more, wading through his adoring fans to Geralt’s table, smiling all the while… but his eyes were hard once the fixed on Geralt. Fuck. He really should have been expecting that, but Jaskier had looked so _happy_ that Geralt had assumed he’d been forgiven. This was clearly not the case.

“I have a room.” Jaskier said, his tone almost cold- almost. Geralt just nodded dumbly and followed behind the bard, something uncomfortable curling in the pit of his stomach. Jaskier was clearly angry- as he had every right to be- but then why did he still want to talk to Geralt? Why not just toss him aside? Unless he just wanted a chance to yell at him.

No, he told himself, Jaskier wasn’t like that. Jaskier had never been cruel to Geralt, regardless of how Geralt treated him, so surely he just wanted to talk... but humans changed, and it’d been a few months since they had seen each other... Geralt felt uncertain and he hated it. Hated feeling off balance and unsure. But he knew he had nobody to blame but himself.

Jaskier led Geralt to a rather nice room (or at least nicer than the room Geralt was staying in,) closing the door with a sharp slam that made Geralt wince. Jaskier sat on the bed, his lute beside him. For several long moments they stared at each other.

“I’m angry with you... but it’s good to see you alive and well, Geralt. I was worried.” Jaskier finally broke the silence, his tone hard. Geralt ducked his head in shame- it’d never occurred to him that Jaskier might worry over him. “...I thought you might have died. Why did you leave?”

Geralt didn’t have an answer. Or at least a good answer. Now that he was with Jaskier again, all those old emotions and feelings came rushing back. Of wanting Jaskier safe, wanting Jaskier close, wanting to kiss him and hold him and stick his nose in Jaskier’s neck, breathing in his scent and it wasn’t... it wasn’t something he could say. So instead he said nothing... which was the wrong answer, judging by the frown on Jaskier’s face.

“Geralt... please talk to me. Was it something I had done? Because I thought we’d been getting along well. But then in the morning you were gone- no note, nothing.” Jaskier’s voice got quieter and Geralt felt his gut twist- of course his foolish bard would think it was his fault, of course. But what else was he supposed to think, with Geralt keeping quiet all the time.

“It... It wasn’t your fault.” His own voice was halting, and not very convincing. Jaskier made a doubting sound, and Geralt tried again. “I. I had to think about some things. Alone. And if I told you where I went, I knew you’d follow me.” There, that was better.

“So you avoided me for four months?! What on earth did you have to think about?” Jaskier sounded incredulous, and Geralt didn’t blame him.

“After the first month I wanted to keep you safe, Jaskier. Being around me is dangerous.” Geralt didn’t mention how lonely he was without Jaskier, didn’t mention how many nights he wanted to go find the bard.

“Geralt, I wouldn’t want to be with you if I cared about danger.” Jaskier stood up with a huff. Geralt stared at him.

“What?”

“What?” Jaskier blinked.

“You said you want to be with me.” Something dangerously like hope began brewing inside his chest as Jaskier flushed red.

“No, I said “be traveling with you,” Geralt, you’re imagining things.” He insisted, nervously starting to pace. Geralt winced internally at how quickly his hope deflated… but. Maybe there was a chance after all.

“I… I could be more. If you want.” Geralt found himself speaking, and Jaskier was staring at him, open mouthed. Fuck. “Or not, I-“

He froze when Jaskier threw himself at Geralt, wrapping his arms around him.

“Yes! Assuming you mean romantically. If not I totally misunderstood and-“ This time Geralt cut Jaskier off, gently kissing him. It wasn’t a long kiss, just softly pressing their lips together, but it got his point across. He let Jaskier go, and the bard gave him a stunned smile. “...I guess that means yes.”

Geralt moved in for another kiss, but Jaskier stopped him.

“...I just want you to know I’m still angry though.”

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments give me life! Please leave one if you enjoyed!
> 
> Haha, I’m not fond of the end,,,
> 
> Find me on Twitter @panda_spirited
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!  
> [Regular Blog](https://howdoistormspirit.tumblr.com)  
> [Writing Blog](https://borealwrites.tumblr.com)


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